Year One, Day One
by PaiPerMeent
Summary: "I was thinking I could move in today." "You haven't signed anything yet," Mrs. Hudson informed him as Sherlock got to the top landing. Now, Sherlock did smile. "I've found a flatmate." ONESHOT! For their one year anniversary! I can't come up with titles.


_**A/N: **I was seriously expecting more fics out there about Sherlock's and John's anniversary! But... I only saw a few. ): It made me sad. Anyway, I wrote this up! I was going to have what they were doing this year... but. Y'know. That would mean I'd have to write about Irene. I dunno if I can do that. Did you guys realize she was only "dead" for 6 days? SIX. DAYS. That's just... stupid. Just stupid. Anyway, ignore me. Enjoy the story! Review if you love me. = w= I think I'll have these notes in italics from now on..._

_**Disclaimer:** My mind couldn't begin to come up with Sherlock's deductions. It jsut couldn't. Therefore, all Credit is Sir ACD's, and Moffat and Gatiss. Yes, thank them and bow before them. As they are amazing. Yes._

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><p><em>Snap. <em>Another picture taken. This one was of the wall Sherlock would paint and shoot at in a few months time. _Snap_. The kitchen. The area behind the cooler. The stove. The furnishings. The bedrooms. The loo. The stairs. The floor. Every corner of the flat. Every last thing that had the potential to be marked or scuffed, or ruined in any way was being photographed. Mrs. Hudson had called Sherlock's last landlord. She loved the poor boy, even if he wasn't the nicest man in the world, but that didn't mean she had to trust him with her wonderful flat. Photographic evidence was a landlady's best friend.

Just as she was about to take a picture of the desk (again, but from a different angle) she heard the door downstairs open. "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called up. Mrs. Hudson set the camera on the desk and walked to greet her new tenant. "I have a cab downstairs with some boxes, I was thinking I could move in today." There was no grin, just him looking around the stairs and... counting? Yes, he was _counting _the steps. He was gripping the wood tightly and running his left hand on the rough wall.

"You haven't signed anything yet," Mrs. Hudson informed him as Sherlock got to the top landing.

Now, Sherlock did smile. "I've found a flatmate. We're going to have to add his name to the agreement."

"Which is?" Mrs. Hudson prompted.

"John Watson. He seems... interesting. And desperate enough to take me as a flat mate." He took his phone out of his pocket and typed in the name of his website, looking at the forum posts. Nothing new. Oh, the world was so boring. Sherlock stuffed the phone back in his pocket and walked past Mrs. Hudson in to the flat.

"If you could go grab a few of those boxes, Mrs. Hudson...," Sherlock not-exactly-asked. As Mrs. Hudson was on her way out she said something about not being a housekeeper. Sherlock would ignore many more times. He took another quick look around the flat before his eyes settled on the camera on the desk. The pictures were of poor quality, but it would be best to delete them and mess with some settings anyway. It was always a good idea to stay out of court. After the pictures were deleted he took 126 pictures, his thumb on top of the lens the whole time. Mrs. Hudson was much too busy moving Sherlock's boxes in to notice what he was doing.

She set a third box down at the same time he set down the camera. _John Watson_. He thought. _What an interesting man_. They'd meet here tomorrow and maybe they'd really start to get along. That would be grand, wouldn't it? After their first meeting they were already getting along better than he and his last flat mate had. Victor Trevor. _That _had been a nightmare. Sherlock realized what he was doing and immediately stopped, deciding to open up a few boxes. The first thing he took out was a pillow with the Union Jack on it. He smiled before tossing it on to one of the chairs. The one he assumed he'd spend the most time in. He was wrong. He wouldn't spend much time in that chair at all, but he didn't know that then.

Mrs. Hudson carried the last box up with some little effort and Sherlock completely ignored that little effort. "Do try to keep the place clean, Sherlock. For me?" Sherlock mumbled something in reply. Mrs. Hudson thought it was a sort of agreeing grunt. It wasn't. It was a "leave-now" sort of sound. She did, even though she hadn't caught the undertone. The next thing to be unpacked was a skull. His skull. Well, no, not _his_skull. But it was, sort of, his skull. He'd run an experiment on the head while it still had flesh and muscle and fat. By the time it was over hardly anything was left on it, so he just took out the organs as best he could, boiled away the rest of the flesh, bleached the damn thing, and began talking to it when he needed inspiration.

"Well?" Sherlock asked the skull, holding it in his hand. He twisted the skull around in his hand to give it a better view of the area. "What do you think?" The skull said nothing. "Yes, that's what I thought as well." The skull stared at the flat with no particular interest. "Well, best to get unpacked right?" The skulls silence seemed oddly sarcastic. "Yes, I do belive this," he set it on the mantle, "is a great spot for you. You can see everything from right there." The skull didn't seem enthused about the perch it was now on. In the skulls defense, it seemed rather indifferent about the whole flat-thing.

For the next hour and a half Sherlock unpacked his things, trying to get things _just-so_. Of course, to anyone but Sherlock it still looked like a great big mess. But it wasn't. Not really. Not in Sherlock's mind. Then he sat down in the chair he was so sure would be his, and fell asleep.


End file.
